


KIZUNA

by missericorde



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Light-Hearted, Other, Rating may go up, Slow Burn, Young Genji Shimada, Young Hanzo Shimada, but will get heavier later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2016-11-05
Packaged: 2018-08-27 04:19:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8386954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missericorde/pseuds/missericorde
Summary: It shouldn't be so simple, but the stupid idiot smiles at you and you don't stand a chance.Or: Shimada Genji, his best friend, his older brother, and what happens next.





	1. spring i

The cherry blossom trees of Hanamura are remarkable for their beauty, fragrance, and longevity. Every year, a festival is held during peak bloom, people travelling for miles to revel in their splendor. And to engage in the decadent sex and drug trade that runs through the veins of Hanamura’s blood, keeping the city thriving. But that’s not really on your mind right now.  
  
Yours is more on the festival preparations and the relaxing aroma of cherry blossoms as you walk home, swinging your shopping bags absentmindedly. It’s one of your favorite times of the year, not because you particularly like the blossoms or the festival, but because you can replenish your stock.  
  
Your family settled in Hanamura for the sake of these trees. While they are known for their beauty, you value them for the uniquely flavored tea their flowers make. And you don’t have school for the duration of the festival, so that’s pretty cool.  
  
You turn a corner, but your mind is too full of thoughts of stuffing bags with pastel-pink petals to avoid the person walking from the other direction.  
  
So you go crashing to the ground with them, and you’re pretty sure you've seen this exact scene in the drama your cousin forced you to watch with her last week. The person you’ve bumped into is either your soulmate or the person who’ll end up killing you.  
  
You’re about to smoosh into the ground like the asshole you are, but firm, steady hands grip your waist and prevent you from kissing the dirt.  
  
A shock of bright green hair, and a well-sculpted body you can feel through a layer of fine silk clothing. An orange symbol that appears on everything it touches, branding Hanamura like one would cattle.  
  
“Hey there,” comes a smooth, playful voice. “Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?”  
  
You’re at a loss for words.  
  
Because that pickup line was godawful.  
  
And also because you feel a cold, slimy wetness around your calves and feet. Judging by his frown, he’s also starting to feel it. You pick yourself off his body to inspect the damage.  
  
“I am deeply sorry for the trouble, Shimada-sama,” you say, bowing deeply and remembering to slip into formal speech before he slaughters you for your insolence, alongside ruining his pants and shoes with eggs.  
  
“Call me Genji,” he replies, and he groans as he wiggles his toes. “Man, this feels gross.”  
  
You wince at the squelching noises coming from his feet. “Again, I’m really, really sorry. I’ll pay for them.”  
  
He waves his arm at you. “There’s no need. It’s not like we can’t wash them. Although…”  
  
You’re a bit relieved, because the Shimada are known for their ruthlessness, and their love for needlessly expensive things. Most of your outrageous requests (and the largest portion of your profit) was due to the Shimada. Who knew how much his clothing cost.  
  
Though, you’re worried about what he does want. Shimada Genji has something of a reputation, his entire family has a reputation, and while he’s known for being a slacker, even a poisonous serpent looks insignificant when placed next to a dragon.  
  
You eye the Shimada insignia sewn into the lapel of his robes.  
  
“How about ramen?”  
  
What?  
  
He looks at you expectantly.  
  
“Did you just ask out someone who smashed eggs on your shoes and pants?” You blurt out. Who does that?  
  
“Hmm, I guess I did. So how about it?”  
  
At this moment, your stomach decides to betray you by grumbling loudly. You feel your cheeks heat up, and Genji smirks at you. You were coming home from a grocery trip, after which you were going to make omelet rice for dinner.  
  
“L-look,” you splutter, because you are the epitome of grace and composure. “We can’t exactly go with eggy feet, plus I’ve got groceries, so let’s stop at my house first!”  
  
He looks surprised at your outburst, and you don’t know why. It doesn’t matter, though, because he quickly schools his expression into something mischievous.  
  
“We've just met, and you’re already inviting me over to your home? How vulgar.”  
  
You give him a look and walk away as if he said nothing. He laughs and follows you.  
  
"May I at least know the name of my newest friend?"  
  
You bite your lip. You're not friends. If you upset him, his family could and probably would destroy you if they found out. Sure, he seems pleasant enough, but what was that saying about the devil again?  
  
Your thoughts are in turmoil, but you tell him your name.  
  
When you arrive at your modest home, it takes a good amount of glaring for Genji to accept a pair of your father’s pants and for him to hand over his dirty clothes. Was he really going to go eat ramen with eggs soaked into his socks? Gross.  
  
“I’ll put these in the fridge,” Genji says, recovering from the psychological warfare way too quickly. You hear the rustling of plastic bags.  
  
“I can’t make a guest help,” you call from down the hall, tossing a few shirts in the washing machine with the soiled socks and pants. “Please have a seat.”  
  
“Am I supposed to watch you do chores? That’s a little weird, isn’t it?” He’s not wrong, you suppose. You toss in detergent and start the machine, the mechanical whirr filling the silence of your home as you walk back to the kitchen to the tea cabinet.  
  
“Alright, you win. But I’m going to make tea right now, and you’re going to sit down and enjoy it.”  
  
The corners of his eyes crinkle when he smiles. “Yes, master. Whatever you- _whoa_.”  
  
“Ah, so you can shut up.”  
  
He pouts. “You’re so mean. I was just surprised. Not even my family has such a variety of tea.”  
  
“I’d be surprised if they didn’t. The Shimada’s influence spreads much further than that of a simple teamaker.” You stand before the cabinet of neatly labeled teas. There are easily over two hundred blends. “Ah, I did it again, where I pick out tea for people that I think they’ll like without asking them. Is there a type you feel like drinking, Shimada-sama?”  
  
“Genji,” he corrects. “And I’m more curious about what you’d think I’d like.”  
  
He helps put away all your groceries while the tea steeps, to your chagrin.  
  
“The aroma is interesting,” he says, staring at the reddish dark liquid in the white cup. “The flavor is…”  
  
He takes a sip, and his eyebrows raise.  
  
“Tart, isn’t it? Your family usually orders milder teas.” Chrysanthemum was a favorite of theirs.  
  
“What is it?”  
  
“Black tea blended with hibiscus, lemon, and apple. The apple is a rather sour variety from England. The color...reminds me of your hair,” you finish lamely.  
  
He stares at you for a bit too long. You flush again, and wonder if this silence can be classified as awkward. Did you say something weird?  
  
“You are strange.” Genji confirms your suspicions. “Does this blend sell well?”  
  
A question about tea; you’re back in your comfort zone. “Well, sour teas aren’t really popular in Hanamura. I just make blends in my spare time. This one doesn’t even have a name yet.”  
  
“Oh, so you made this?” His eyes are bright. “You’re very talented.”  
  
He’s very charming. A part of you realizes that he made it from the sidewalk to your home in the span of about fifteen minutes, and he’s manage to assuage the wariness you feel whenever you associate with his clan without even knowing it. You’re still not completely sure if the laid-back attitude is a façade or his genuine personality.  
  
You hope it’s the latter. You quite like him.  
  
“You certainly know how to hit someone in their weak spot, Shimada-sama,” you drawl. “I have no choice but to fall in love with you now.”  
  
He laughs and takes your hand. “Genji,” he says, voice low and velvety smooth. “You can start by calling me Genji.”  
  
For some inexplicable reason, you’re flustered. Maybe it’s the heat of his hand against yours, the tingle as the pad of his bare thumb traces the back of your knuckles, or the intensity of his dark, dark eyes, but you part your lips and-  
  
“Genji-“ The beginnings of a grin make its way across his face-  
  
“-dono.” Now he’s the one looking flustered.  
  
It’s awkward, the juxtaposition of such a formal honorific and his first name. Irregular and strangely intimate in its own way. Perfectly fitting for a seemingly odd duck born to a family of ruthless killers.  
  
“Genji-dono. I’d like to have dinner before the rush hour starts, so if you’d let go of my hand…” You give him your best grin, the one that pisses teachers off and starts fights with older students.  
  
He doesn’t fight back when you wrest your hand from his grip, grabbing your wallet from the kitchen table and walking to the shoe rack, thinking about which pair to lend to Genji. It takes a moment or two before he’s laughing again and throwing an arm over your shoulders.  
  
“I'm impressed. You make a pretty good opponent.” He takes the pair of sandals you offer him.  
  
“Opponent? I’m not really a fighter,” you say as the two of you exit. You turn to lock the door.  
  
He hums. “No, perhaps not with a blade or a gun. But you are certainly a fighter.”  
  
A hand ruffles your hair, an action that would eventually become familiar and comforting. This time, you scowl at it before wrenching his hand from your head. He laughs again, and you can’t tell if it’s endearing or aggravating.  
  
So you have ramen together, and it’s nice, and it’s the one and only encounter you have with Shimada Genji.  
  
Or so you think, until you’re walking out of school the next day, after saying your goodbyes to your friends and grabbing your bag, you walk past the gate and see a familiar figure. The other students are whispering. What is he doing here? They never have business here. Who is he waiting for?  
  
A carton of a dozen eggs is thrust towards you, an apple-green ribbon tied around it into a bow.  
  
What.  
  
He’s wearing that smile of his, other hand in his pocket as he leans against the school gate, irreverent and cocky.  
  
“Hey, wanna go to the arcade?”


	2. spring ii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're friends with genji, the story's plot progresses at the pace of an iceberg, when is hanzo going to appear?

“I think my eyesight is ruined forever,” you groan after what has to be your twentieth round of Holobloks, the fluorescent neon lights from the game seeping through your fingers as you cover your eyes with a single hand, trying to relax your tired eyes.  
  
“I’d sympathize, but you brought it on yourself,” Genji says, mouth full of pale-green cotton candy. “Nobody forced you challenge me to all those matches.”  
  
“You did,” you whine, “since you refused to lose like a proper opponent.”  
  
He snorts at your pathetic figure sprawled over the console. “A proper opponent? What does that even mean?”  
  
“I dunno. I’m tired.” You bury your head in your arms.  
  
You feel a finger poke at your side, and you grumble and shift to avoid it. “Hey, you can’t fall asleep in the arcade. You haven’t even eaten dinner yet.”  
  
“It’s too late to eat dinner,” you mumble. Also, the smell of greasy food is unappealing, and your belly is too full with the salt from losing to Genji, so you’re not hungry. “Just lemme close my eyes for a few seconds.”  
  
You do just that, letting the loud technopop blaring from the speakers of each machine lull you into the abyss like a dissonant symphony.  
  
A beat.  
  
Then:  
  
“You shouldn’t fall asleep in such a public place, little kitten. A dragon might come along and swallow you whole.” It’s super lame and contrived, but his voice is smooth and rumbly and _right next to your ear_ as he lifts you into his arms, pausing momentarily to pick up your school bag.  
  
His breath smells like sugar and apples.  
  
You let out what is basically the verbal form of a keyboard smash, and flail about wildly, now fully awake. Unfortunately, Genji’s hands have decided to turn into reinforced steel, and refuse to relent from their firm grip on your shoulder and thighs.  
  
Why does this guy insist on turning your life into a _shojo_ manga?!  
  
“Genji, let me down!”  
  
He looks at your almost-luminescent blushing face and gives a hum of contemplation. “Nah, don’t feel like it.”  
  
“You’re making a scene!”  
  
“No, _you_ are.” You observe the surroundings, and he’s right, damn it. Your yelling has attracted curious glances from restaurant owners closing their stores for the evening, drunken salarymen, and from the less savory types conducting business. Your Japanese conscience beats down upon you for being so disruptive. “I didn’t even know your voice could get so high,” he says, grinning in an obnoxious way that seems to say “ _I win_.”  
  
“Ugh.” When it’s clear you’re not going to fight the princess carry anymore, Genji’s grin widens and he starts walking out of the arcade, in the direction of your house.  
  
“See how easy it is when you agree with me?”  
  
“Shut up, jerk.”  
  
A laugh. You try to ignore how you can feel his chest shake against your shoulder. The night air is warm and mild, the scent of oily food mixing with the fragrance of the barely-blooming cherry blossoms. The stars would look beautiful, in theory, if they were not drowned out by the neon lights of the city’s commercial district.  
  
The sounds from the arcade fade away as he carries you leisurely towards the residential areas. The sound of his feet against the pavement, a dog barking, and the thrum of electricity are a lullaby weighing heavily on your eyelids, but the sheer absurdity of the situation makes you unable to close them. If Genji hands you over to aliens, you wouldn’t even be that surprised.  
  
It’s stupid late. You’re sure you’re going to regret spending thirty thousand yen and seven hours playing video games with Genji in the morning. But this moment right now? It’s nice. You’re content. Or you’re exhausted (same difference). It doesn’t bother you so much that Genji is basically a stranger and you’re not sure what he wants with you, because you’re unremarkable and civilian in every way. He’s humming a tune under his breath, and you recognize it as a new song released by a popular idol group.  
  
Seven hours.  
  
“The eggs are ruined,” you say.  
  
He falls silent. The look on his face briefly questions your sanity before he remembers what you’re talking about, and he laughs again.  
  
You recognize the houses on your block as he walks past them, and you think that the trip was awfully quick.  
  
“Then, I’ll just have to bring you more.”  
  


* * *

Ten days into your – you’re have no clue what to call it, really? – association with Shimada Genji, you finally work up the nerve to ask him:  
  
“Are we dating?”  
  
Because while you don’t have much relationship experience, you get the impression that your interactions with him are a tad strange. After your arcade date (?), you wake up to an alarm you don’t remember setting, and when you open your front door, there’s another carton of still-cold eggs hanging from a plastic bag off the doorknob.  
  
You don’t see him for a week. Well, that’s not quite true – during your forays into the busier parts of the city, you see him flirting with girls and eating ramen and trying to see how many _mikan_ oranges he can stack onto a stray cat’s head. You don’t greet him, and he never sees you.  
  
The two of you are parts of completely different worlds during those times, and demanding his attention makes you feel as if you’re crossing some sort of invisible line, infracting on some unspoken rule, so you rationalize the idea of being his sometimes-playmate.  
  
Then he shows up at your store at around closing yesterday, a pizza box tucked under one arm and a dossier containing the Shimada’s monthly order of tea clutched in the other hand.  
  
Genji _confuses_ you.  
  
He’s sprawled out on your couch, his shirt ridden halfway up his stomach, and clutching a tub of your peanut-butter-chocolate ice cream. The spoon out of his mouth makes a little _pop_ as he takes it out, licking his lips clean.  
  
“Are we?”  
  
Probably not, because you feel like when two people date, usually, neither person flirts with anything in a skirt. An objective part of you fully realizes that you’re attracted to him, but you’re not sure if you want to actually date him. He also sometimes does strangely romantic things for you, things that people who are friends don’t do for each other.  
  
But that’s Genji, right? He seems to relish in ignoring the expectations others place on him.  
  
You’re a bit jealous of that bravery.  
  
“I… uh. Don’t know. I’ll get back to you on that.”  
  
Nice one.  
  
“Alright. Want to get ice cream?”  
  
“I have ice cream. You’re eating it right now,” you say slowly.  
  
“You _had_ ice cream.” He tilts the container upside-down to prove his point.  
  
“You piece of- Fine. You’re paying,” you say, throwing a nearby pillow at him. He catches a corner between two fingers, smirking as he places the pillow behind his head. He then tosses the empty carton over the side of the couch, and it bounces off your microwave and into the trash.  
  
Goddamn ninjas. You can’t help but be impressed, and though you try not to let it show, the catlike grin on his face means that you’ve failed.  
  
“Nice. It’s a date, then.”  
  
You’re already halfway out the door. “Go away, Genji.”  
  
He rolls off the couch. Somehow, the movement is graceful. “But I’m paying,” he says, pouting.  
  
“And I barely tolerate you for it.” By now, you can’t keep the smile off your face.  
  
“So cold. I don’t even need ice cream. I could just eat you up.”  
  
Your face scrunches. “Was that supposed to be flirtatious? How are you so popular with girls?”  
  
“Okay, I’m seriously going to cry now.”  
  
You laugh, and he grins at you, and it’s nice.  
  
Getting along with Genji is easy. Perhaps by osmosis, his easy confidence and carefree attitude make it hard to stay sad in his presence. Around him, you end up saying things you normally wouldn’t, and he laughs at most of your jokes.  
  
You wonder if this is what having a close friend, compared to your numerous daily acquaintances, is like.  
  
“The cherry-blossom festival starts in three days,” you say. You’re not sure if he’ll accept, but it’s best to get it over with now rather than agonize over it and let it ruin the taste of your ice cream.  
  
“Indeed. I can’t wait to be trapped in the compound and forced to greet all my relatives,” he says, grimacing. “The traditional outfit is _so_ unflattering, and _wait_ -“ He swerves towards you almost comically. “Are you _asking me out_?”  
  
“I just mentioned the festival, _what makes you think_ \- Never mind. You’re right,” you reply, voice flat. “I’ve finally fallen for your charms and have decided to take the initiative. Please ravage me, Genji-sama.” Then: “But if you’re busy, we don’t have to. Your thing sounds pretty important-“  
  
He says your name.  
  
“-and we barely know each other, your family should come first-“  
  
A tug at your sleeve.  
  
“-so don’t feel obligated to say yes-“  
  
“I’ll come.” Firm hands grasp yours, cutting you off, and he looks perhaps the most serious he has since you’ve two met. “Thank you for inviting me.”  
  
Your chest flutters.  
  
“As friends, though,” you blurt out, and he looks stunned. “After much deliberation and numerical analysis, I’ve decided that it’s for the best if we become friends.”  
  
“Friends,” he repeats.  
  
Then, he reaches over and ruffles your hair.  
  
“I can live with that, I guess.”  
  


* * *

  
While your old _yukata_ fits you well, you decide to get fitted for a new one. You’ve worn it for the past three years, and while it’s still in good condition, you feel like the pastel and polka-dotted obi are a bit childish for someone who only really attends the festival to poach cherry blossoms and make business contacts.  
  
For your new outfit, you choose a simple but elegant navy blue _yukata_ with a silver obi. You even splurge on new pair of dark lacquered sandals. While you’re not showstoppingly gorgeous, you do think you clean up well. The old ladies who are at the park in the early morning setting up picnic blankets seem to agree, and you receive pinched cheeks, lots of compliments, and an armful of _sakuramochi_ as payment for your assistance and your generous donation of green tea.  
  
It’s a gorgeous spring day, as spring days are wont to be in Hanamura, but the excitement of the festivities are infectious. A child, bright red balloon in hand, chases after a pair of dogs.  
  
When you were a child, you attended this festival with your family members. You’ve never spent it with a friend before.  
  
You don’t dislike the mix of excitement and nervousness brewing in your stomach as you purchase a candied apple and wait for Genji. You spot a few classmates amongst the crowd and greet them.  
  
He did say that he was confined to the Shimada compound for the majority of the festival. Does that mean he hasn’t seen much of it yet? Even if it’s for an hour or two, you’d like to show Genji around your favorite stalls. Perhaps he could help settle the heated debate of which taiyaki flavor is best at Ito-san’s snack stall. You think he’s a red-bean with sesame kind of guy.  
  
You never find out, because as the sun reaches its zenith and sets, and stall owners pack up their wares for the day, you wait.  
  
He doesn’t show up.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> genji and reader are like 15-ish here. reader’s just started their 3rd year of middle school fyi
> 
> also, thanks for your nice comments and kudos! they are greatly appreciated <3

**Author's Note:**

> (As you can tell) this is headcanon heavy because overwatch canon is ???
> 
> I'm not sure where I'm going to take this, but I'll have fun with it. Thanks for reading!


End file.
